


Beloved

by sunaddicted



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Confusing, Emotional Manipulation, Ficlet, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internal Monologue, Introspection, Love/Hate, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mind Manipulation, Multiple Personalities, POV First Person, Self-Combustion, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:59:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunaddicted/pseuds/sunaddicted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You seduced my latent insanity to come out and play [...]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beloved

**Author's Note:**

> Mairon's thoughts while drowning in Númenor.

_Beloved_

I carelessly destroyed myself on your burnt fingers, crudely impaling my body on your sharp nails, wildly twisting my hips around those strong appendages to do as much damage as possible in a maddening dance. Again and again I shattered myself against you, relishing in the feeling of exploding in a shimmering cloud of cutting shards – like a salty wave crashing upon the rocks, my consciousness split in a thousand droplets mirroring reality from a multitude of different slants and made me omniscient.

You made me feel elated as I bled on your ivory flesh and in the large cup of your calloused palms, soaking it up with my burning passion, mottling it with the juice of my slipping sanity – an eternal blemish you paraded around as a medal, drying rusty and flaking away like dead skin, ready to be renewed with freshly-spilled blood that I always was eager to offer.

Self-destruction never was at the forefront of my mind in Valinor; everything of importance to me was lovingly housed in Aulë’s sweltering forges, bathed in the golden-orange light of ever-burning fires – safe and blunt-edged. You drove me to it with your enthralling speeches, praying me to see my own greatness as if I was a blind divinity, and cheered me with blinding smiles and tender caresses.

You quietly seduced my latent insanity to come out and play, lured it to the surface where it melted the carefully-crafted mask of the Admirable, liquefying the beautifully carved etchings of the devoted and pure Maia, and revealed the unbalanced monster lurking beneath. The promises of your love and endless power were enough to make the illusion dissolve like boiling water and unleash the Abhorred, giving it free reign to a blood-thirsty fiend.

And I burned, brighter and hotter than Laurelin and Anar fused together, my light consecrated to shine upon your gloriously crowned head like an evanescent halo. I didn’t have a body nor a definitive shape, my hair was nothing more than a swaying flame and my eyes redder spots twinkling amidst the arson I had become: I was boundless and free and all because of you, who put me together again with your fervent kisses and powerful thrusts; the strength of your embraces the needed pressuring force to compress the blazing fire back into my skin, forcing my pores to re-absorb it in my veins through which it flowed languidly like a scorching river of lava.

You gave me freedom only to imprison me again, binding my mind to your will with iron shackles – a slave to your whims, drooling for scrapes of your attention like an overeager puppy craving to make its Master proud. Nothing more. Nothing less. Your Lieutenant.

Beloved.

The water is so cold.

So cold, you were when you showed your dissatisfaction with my actions. And I had to warm you up again, showering you in blood: mine, elvish, orcish… I didn’t care for the source: I just wanted to paint you crimson and make a pleased smile blossom on your sinful mouth, licked by your hungry tongue.

The earth shakes as the tsunami unfolds itself on Númenor, hiding the sky with its angry indigo-blueness and frothing foam. The waves' fall is fast, but the fist seconds it was as if a thin an incessant rain had started to bathe the island despite the obvious lack of clouds. Now it’s pouring like a deluge, flooding the streets and inundating palaces and shacks alike – not even your temple is immune: your accolades searched in vain refuge in its silvery gates.

The shrine of your worship has become a mass grave, overflowing with inflating corpses ready to burst and infect the ocean with their intestines, leaking disgusting fluids. And I stand at its top, hurling my rage at the invisible sky while the salty water glues my pristine robes to my body and fill my lungs.

I’m drowning.

I’m burning.

Beloved.

A cacophony of gurgling screams hums in my head and I remember my expeditions in Angband dungeons, where I let you shamelessly weaponize me – a tool like any other to inflict horrid tortures, your avenging warrior.

I’m so cold.

Beloved.

There’s the Admirable sobbing in the back of my mind, pleading me to flee and save myself. To ask for forgiveness for my innumerable sins and regain my place in Valinor. We wouldn’t be in this situation if you didn’t taint us – if you didn’t leave us to fend for ourselves after you made us dependent on you.

What have you done to us?

Beloved, I carelessly destroyed myself on your burnt fingers, crudely impaling my body on your sharp nails, wildly twisting my hips around those strong appendages to do as much damage as possible in a maddening dance. And once again I wreck myself in your name, cursing the Valar with my last breaths and bursting into flames. Little Flame, you used to say: you loved me.

I’m the last light Númenor will ever see.

**Author's Note:**

> I obsessively listened to "Love Crime" by Siouxsie Sioux and Brian Reitzell (yes, the very one playing during Hannibal finale) while writing this.  
> Tell me if the editing is shitty because I'm in hospital and posting this from my mobile <3


End file.
